


Historical Revisionism

by FangsScalesSkin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Times, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, Historical Dress, Just having a fun and loving sex, M/M, No Angst, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Scene: Globe Theatre 1601 (Good Omens), Scene: Paris 1793 (Good Omens), Sexual Roleplay, They switch gender presentation and efforts and have fun with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25793215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangsScalesSkin/pseuds/FangsScalesSkin
Summary: “If only we could have been together sooner,” Aziraphale says, thinking aloud while sitting on the veranda of the cottage and watching Crowley terrorise his garden. He had been reading, but the sight of Crowley knelt on the soft earth with his shoulder blades moving under his shirt as he worked had been too much to pass up.“Got plenty time to make up for it now," Crowley says, waving a hand trowel threateningly at some uncooperative begonias.“Yes, but it could have been such fun. If I had just been a little more daring!" Aziraphale traces idle circles on the cover of the book at his side. "All the way back in the Garden, even."---My entry for the Flaming Like Anything zine, here now on Ao3 as the exclusivity period is over! Crowley and Aziraphale have all the time in the world to revisit the times they couldn't be together in the past. They decide to pretend that they were together instead, and find it's rather enjoyable.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 192
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Smut Library





	Historical Revisionism

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the beautiful accompanying illustrations by [Val](https://twitter.com/ThePartySparkle) over [here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/ThePartySparkle/status/1292500276985962501)!

“If only we could have been together sooner,” Aziraphale says, thinking aloud while sitting on the veranda of the cottage and watching Crowley terrorise his garden. He had been reading, but the sight of Crowley knelt on the soft earth with his shoulder blades moving under his shirt as he worked had been too much to pass up.

“Got plenty time to make up for it now," Crowley says, waving a hand trowel threateningly at some uncooperative begonias.

“Yes, but it could have been such fun. If I had just been a little more daring!" Aziraphale traces idle circles on the cover of the book at his side. "All the way back in the Garden, even."

Crowley looks up from his plants and lifts his sunglasses off his face, tucking them on top of his hair.

"We have a garden right here. It's small, but it's ours." He gives a lopsided smile. "Though that  _ does _ give me an idea."

Crowley snaps his fingers. The two of them are dressed in familiar flowing robes. 

"Before you ask, yes, your clothes are inside. Hide us from the neighbours, will you?" 

Aziraphale raises a quizzical eyebrow but renders them miraculously invisible. Right as he does, Crowley unfurls his wings. It's a painfully nostalgic sight, especially with Crowley framed as he is by the plants and trees behind him.

Aziraphale stands and steps off the veranda, bringing his wings out to mirror Crowley. "Tempting the Guardian of the Eastern Gate away from his post, are you?" 

"Oh yeah, master tempter, that's me. The one and only, the original," Crowley blithers, looking him up and down.

“I don’t know how it wasn’t obvious, the way you look at me.” Like it was Aziraphale who hung the stars, and not Crowley himself.

“Let’s pretend it was obvious and that you did something about it,” Crowley smirks, balling his fists up in Aziraphale’s robe and leaning in close to lay a teasingly light kiss on his lips.

“Oh. Do that again.” Aziraphale tries to look coy - half acting as if this is the very first time he’s been kissed, half failing woefully because he wants it too much to pretend to be bad at it. There’s a distinct lack of fumbling as he buries his fingers in Crowley’s hair and kisses him deeply with a practiced tongue. 

Crowley moans into the kiss, grabbing Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulling them both into a kneeling position. The fresh-tilled soil is damp under their knees and gives off a rich, earthy smell. “Lie back.” The damp against Aziraphale’s back as he lies down isn’t his favourite sensation, but he’s distracted from it by Crowley tugging up both their robes and pushing their cocks together.

They rut together as if they’d only just discovered it, Aziraphale’s wings quivering and flattening the flowers around them with every ecstatic jerk of his body. After they both come, they lie there in the garden and Aziraphale thinks how lovely it was.

"We could revisit this. Pretending we were already involved with each other in the past, I mean. Make up for lost time."

"Yeah. Yeah. Sssounds good."

-

Crowley has taken that for the open invitation it is; he's planning some  _ fun _ for their trip back to London to see  _ Much Ado About Nothing.  _ He doesn’t tell Aziraphale this, of course, since that would spoil the surprise. Besides,  _ Much Ado  _ is Crowley’s preferred play, Aziraphale won’t be able to complain afterwards about not paying attention to it.

When the day arrives, Crowley is completely unable to contain his glee, whistling as he subjects his garden to its daily terrorising. Aziraphale doesn’t remark upon it, but gives Crowley some looks over breakfast as if  _ he’s _ the pile of syrup-drenched pancakes about to be devoured. The angel finding Crowley’s mischief-making attractive has been an unexpected part of their relationship, and getting such a look from him gives Crowley a nice little anticipatory tingle all through the drive to London.

Aziraphale is suitably impressed when Crowley declares he has tickets to sit in the gentlemen’s rooms at the Globe. They, and they alone, will be sitting in as exclusive a box as the Globe has to offer. It’s not as fancy as more modern theatres, but he chose the Globe for a reason.

The first act has barely begun when Crowley clicks his fingers twice. The first - to make it appear from the outside as if their box is empty. The second - to place them in as close a recreation he can manage of the clothing they wore while watching  _ Hamlet _ .

Making a sweet little “oh” of surprise, Aziraphale turns to him. His brows arch when he sees Crowley has given himself a goatee and all to match. “What are you doing, dearest?”

“I was thinking, don’t you still owe me for making Hamlet a runaway success?” Crowley smirks, hand on his hip.

“Why, I suppose I do,” Aziraphale says easily. “What did you have in mind?”

"You use those luscious, plump lips of yours to show your appreciation while I watch the play."

"That sounds fair," Aziraphale murmurs, licking his lips. “How do you want me?”

“Lemme just - ” Crowley sits on one of the benches so he’ll still be able to see the stage even if he’s barely keeping track of what’s happening. “On your knees for me, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale stoops down to give Crowley a lingering kiss and then kneels without hesitation, pulling Crowley’s hose and breeches down to his knees and tossing away his codpiece with a little laugh. Aziraphale manages to look radiant while kneeling on a wooden floor and nuzzling affectionately at the thatch of hair above Crowley’s snatch, and if Crowley hadn’t lost the thread of the play before he definitely has now.

Crowley grabs at the stupid ruffle Aziraphale’s wearing and lets out a quiet  _ fffuck  _ when Aziraphale slides the whole flat of his tongue down along Crowley’s slit to tease at his opening, lapping at him before burying as much as he can in Crowley’s cunt. Aziraphale hums contentedly all the while and Crowley tries to tease about Heaven’s reaction if they could see him now and that all it took was a play to convince him to ‘deepen’ the Arrangement. Then Aziraphale slides his mouth back up to Crowley’s clit and sucks on it.

Crowley bites his lips enough to leave marks and shreds Aziraphale’s ruff in the effort of not shrieking in the middle of the theatre. On stage, the actors are throwing oranges back and forth to the audience but Crowley’s higher functions have checked out so he’s not comprehending anything he’s seeing, except Aziraphale licking and sucking his cunt as if it were a juicy plum. Aziraphale slips two fingers into his soaking snatch and finger-fucks Crowley until he comes right there on the wooden bench. Then he does it again, and again throughout the interval, and teases orgasm after orgasm from Crowley for the rest of the play until Crowley is a wreck and Aziraphale’s mouth and chin is a slick-soaked mess. Crowley’s fantasies back at the time of the Arrangement couldn’t even  _ compare _ .

Once Crowley is capable of thought he offers to get Aziraphale off in return, but Aziraphale demurs, a twinkle in his eye as he insists he was showing his deep appreciation for Crowley’s miracle with  _ Hamlet _ . 

Crowley doesn’t remember anything of the performance afterwards except the scene with the blasted oranges.

-

Aziraphale is having  _ far too much fun _ with this new game of theirs. The time in the Globe was a standout example - Crowley’s stunned expression at the end! - but they’ve revisited some of the rather less notable times in their history too, and each one was a delight. It has Aziraphale feeling positively naughty. 

It is in this spirit that Aziraphale miraculously adds a basement to their home, and miraculously changes it to look like his jail cell in Paris right down to the light streaming through the barred windows, albeit minus the clamour of the guillotine and crowd outside. He doesn’t mention this to Crowley until Crowley squints at the new basement door and asks what it’s doing there. Only then does Aziraphale take his hand and lead him downstairs. Crowley’s confusion lasts until Aziraphale miracles their clothing. Aziraphale does  _ not  _ give himself the jailor’s outfit - if giving himself a facsimile of his lovely clothing he lost is taking some liberties, well, so is this whole scenario. He can have his little indulgences.

“Going to show me your gratitude for the rescue, Angel?” Crowley leans against the wall and smirks.

“I was thinking rather about getting you out of those dreadful clothes.” How Crowley manages to be so alluring in the tatty café intellectual look is a mystery to Aziraphale, but he does know one thing: those clothes are coming off. He advances on Crowley with purpose. 

For all his surprise, Crowley stands in place and lets Aziraphale tear his shirt open and jacket off and crowd him against the wall. When Aziraphale pauses and looks to Crowley’s face, worried that perhaps he came on too strong, Crowley smiles slightly and tugs him in close for a kiss, one full of tongues and teeth. Aziraphale gives as good as he gets.

“What’s gotten into you?” Crowley gasps as they part.

“Well, I,” Aziraphale swallows and only now he blushes, “ - I was hoping that  _ you _ would, actually.”

“So - you tore my shirt to bits hoping that I’d ravish you in return.” Crowley tilts his head, looking amused. “Not your best acting but I’ll let it slide, because,” Crowley grabs Aziraphale’s hips and spins them both around so Aziraphale is the one with his back pressed against the wall, “I want to fuck you so hard you’ll forget all about your pretty outfit.”

Aziraphale wiggles happily. “Oh, please.”

Contrary to his words, Crowley divests him of everything below the waist with care. “How’d you feel about being chained to the wall?” he adds, as if it’s an afterthought. 

Aziraphale bites his lip and nods. This is turning out magnificently. Crowley clicks his fingers and Aziraphale finds his wrists drawn up and away from his body, chained to the wall with heavy manacles. He shivers in anticipation and pleasure as Crowley bends to slide miraculously slick fingers into his arse. Crowley works him open slowly until Aziraphale is shaking and begging.

Only when Aziraphale is hanging limply in his chains, legs gone weak, does Crowley take away his fingers. Aziraphale whines embarrassingly, but forgets all about it when he feels the head of Crowley’s cock nudge against his entrance. He takes deep shuddering breaths as Crowley pushes in to the hilt. Somehow he manages to draw his legs up around Crowley’s hips so Crowley can pound into him properly, letting gravity fuck him onto Crowley’s cock on every thrust. He hears Crowley panting and cursing under his breath and telling him how hot he is, and he lets that and the feeling of being fucked deeply take him apart until he is only sensation, no thoughts left.

Crowley gets a hand around Aziraphale’s cock and jerks him off hard as he spills into Aziraphale’s ass, and that’s it, Aziraphale’s seeing stars and coming in splatters all across his own chest. To Crowley’s smug satisfaction and Aziraphale’s future chagrin, he doesn’t even think to mention the mess made of his clothing while Crowley lets him down and rubs feeling gently back into his wrists. It only occurs to him much later.

-

Crowley should have seen this coming when he wore the empire-line dress. They’re pretending to be at a fancy Regency-era party where they never would have met, which is a little bit silly when they’re both at home but it hardly matters when they’ve both tumbled into a room done up as an antechamber.

Aziraphale loves -  _ loves _ \- getting his mouth on Crowley. Kissing his cheeks, his lips, his skinny chest and the knobbly curve of his spine; kisses to his hand and the inside of his wrist, old-fashioned but absurdly charming; kisses all the way down to the auburn curl of hair on Crowley's lower stomach and past that; kisses all over whatever sex Crowley's chosen that day, reverent and hungry. Kisses and licks and the whole flat of his tongue and the kind of focus Aziraphale otherwise reserves wholly for cake.

If it weren’t for Aziraphale's desserts, Crowley imagines that nothing would ever distract Aziraphale from going down on Crowley with his greedy mouth until the demon finally loses whatever tenuous control he has of his legs. It would feel glorious, sure, but it took Crowley  _ ages _ to master upright motion first time round. Right now it feels like Aziraphale has him halfway there already, easing Crowley down from his fourth orgasm of the night and leaving him quivering atop a cushioned stool and leaning back on the closed piano fallboard for support.

Of course, he could ask Aziraphale to stop, but fuck that, it feels way too good. Looks good too, with Aziraphale after crawling under Crowley's dress, plump thighs and lovely stocking-clad calves poking out from where he's kneeling. It wouldn't do anything to disguise what they're doing if someone walked in. Impossible, since they’re at home, but the fantasy sends a thrill down Crowley’s spine anyway.

Crowley wants to see his angel's face so he lifts up the skirt of his dress in unsteady hands, gathering it until Aziraphale's pink-cheeked face becomes visible at the crux of Crowley's thighs. Crowley hardly bothers with a refractory period so his cock is swelling again to fill Aziraphale's mouth while he watches. He was definitely right about wanting to see. Aziraphale slides from tip to base and back again, looking up at Crowley with a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. The sheer affection there is overwhelming. Then Aziraphale takes his cock down to the root once more and sucks, eyes closed in concentration. Crowley comes with a breathless groan, a wave of potent love and lust washing away everything else for several long minutes.

"Sweet buggering fuck." Crowley trembles in place, overstimulated.

Aziraphale swallows down the last of Crowley’s come and draws back until he can speak. "Now, now, darling, keep quiet for me. We don't want to get caught."

Of  _ course  _ Aziraphale would get the hang of roleplay for the purpose of being a smug little bastard about it. Crowley loves him so much.

“You know,” Aziraphale leans his cheek against Crowley’s thigh and traces idle circles along his skin, “It’s likely I could coax another climax from you already, if I massage your prostate while I suck you off again. Would you like that?”

“Nn. Ngk. Oh fuck, oh please.” Crowley is babbling  _ as quietly as he can  _ but that’s about all the restraint he has left. Walking? Who needs walking? Not Crowley. All Crowley needs is Aziraphale, dressed extravagantly and delighting in how many orgasms he can coax from Crowley before Crowley falls right off his chair.

-

Their little roleplay of sneaking away at a party has given Aziraphale a memory he’ll cherish for a long time, that of Crowley coming an improbable number of times and then stumbling around like he only just discovered legs and needed help to stand. Utterly delicious  _ and _ sweetly silly. He’s hardly ever seen Crowley so uncoordinated, even while drunk.

Naturally Aziraphale expects Crowley to get ‘revenge’ in some pleasurable way and to leave Aziraphale a shivering wreck after. He's positively looking forward to it. So, when Crowley asks if he has any clothing around since the 1920s, Aziraphale lays out a prim but practical dress he's kept in  _ impeccable  _ condition and changes himself into a womanly shape so it will fit just so. With it he puts on tartan socks and sweet little vintage ankle boots, and he miracles his hair up in a bun. Looking in the mirror, he has to give a pleased wiggle. He looks perfectly put together in a way that practically invites Crowley to mess him up. One of Aziraphale's own little temptations.

When he steps down off the stairs with a click of his heels, Crowley's head swivels around at the sound and Aziraphale has the pleasure of seeing him briefly speechless, pupils dilating as if the angel were his only source of light in a dark room. Then Crowley smiles wide, and circles him with a low whistle that brings a blush to Aziraphale's cheeks.

"Never did get to show you the Bentley when I first bought it," Crowley says, a mystifying non-sequitur, "so lemme just…" He clicks his fingers and he's dressed and made up top to toe as a flapper girl, albeit with a dress so short it barely reaches his thighs. "Lemme take you for a  _ ride _ ."

"You  _ won't _ pretend to be an even worse driver than usual?"

"Ugh, fine.” Crowley rolls his eyes. “I'll make it good for you, Angel. Promissse."

That’s how Aziraphale finds himself braced against the passenger door while Crowley races with a cackle along deserted country lanes. Eventually Crowley pulls into a field with the gate left open. He parks, but leaves the Bentley idling, moonlight slicing through the clouds to bathe the front seats. Aziraphale takes a series of steadying breaths.

“I’ll never get sick of that. I bet your heart is thumping hard right now, huh?” Crowley grins sharply, lips painted a deep red.

“You beastly creature.”

“The worst.” Crowley leans over, catching Aziraphale in a kiss that has him melting, forgetting to be upset as his adrenaline gives way to arousal. His heart is already beating so very quickly. He makes a muffled noise against Crowley’s lips, and Crowley brings a hand up to cup one of the angel’s breasts. The touch sends a pleasant heat down his spine. 

Aziraphale feels a bit dizzy when Crowley draws back to scent the air with his tongue.

“Wet already. Doesn’t this car purr beautifully? I bet you can feel it in that pussy of yours.”

“Oh.” Now that Crowley’s mentioned it, he can. The low rumbling of the engine is an extra layer of teasing, and Crowley still has a hand playing with his breast, and he’s kissing and nipping at the closest side of Aziraphale’s neck. It’s very distracting. “Would you touch my snatch, darling?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Crowley drops his hand from Aziraphale’s breast and Aziraphale misses the touch keenly until Crowley uses one hand to push up Aziraphale’s skirt and the other to brush, too-light, against Aziraphale’s folds.

“No panties. Naughty angel,” Crowley purrs, pressing his knuckle against Aziraphale’s clit and letting him rock his hips against it.

“O-only for you.” 

Crowley slips seamlessly from his perch on the edge of the driver’s seat to sit atop one of Aziraphale’s legs, straddling his thigh and rubbing his wet heat against Aziraphale’s leg. He pushes Aziraphale’s skirt all the way up to his waist and then buries his free hand in Aziraphale’s hair, tugging the bun loose.

“Ssso proper. Like to ssee you come apart for me.” Crowley presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s gasping mouth. He’s got two fingers in Aziraphale now, and a thumb working his clit.

“Can you - three fingers - and I’ll rub my own clit.” The angel has melted back against the passenger seat, surrounded by the smell of leather upholstery and sex, feeling the rumble of the car beneath him, hearing Crowley let out pleased little hisses at the look on his face when Crowley gets three fingers inside his snatch. Aziraphale works feverishly at his own clit, feeling inundated by Crowley’s presence on all sides and in all his senses. 

Crowley kisses him, his serpent tongue easily sliding in to tease Aziraphale’s, swallowing his gasps and only breaking the kiss when Aziraphale shudders and comes. He’s a moaning over-sensitive mess by the time Crowley finishes working him through a drawn-out orgasm. Aziraphale tries to reach for Crowley to return the favour, but the demon catches his wrist, smirking smugly.

“No, no. I’ve got a pretty angel right where I want him, it’s time I return the favour and get you off until you can’t think  _ or _ walk straight, starshine.” Crowley’s grin turns vicious but his voice and eyes are unendingly fond, and Aziraphale submits happily to Crowley’s attentions, letting himself forget the long centuries when they could never touch at all.


End file.
